


My Family is Bigger

by 2babyturtles



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Competitive Sherlock, Could Be Canon, Cute, Established Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Halloween, Halloween Gift Exchange, Parent!lock, Parentlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-27
Updated: 2017-09-27
Packaged: 2019-01-06 03:57:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12203415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2babyturtles/pseuds/2babyturtles
Summary: “What do you think, Watson?” Sherlock asks, peering down at the little girl. In a zombie-style rocker costume, she is rather adorable. An array of fake instruments made of pretend bones are lined up awaiting the “band” and Rosie retrieves what must be a violin for Sherlock. She hands it to him eagerly and he almost smiles. “You know I can’t play anything for you on this,” he tells her.





	My Family is Bigger

**Author's Note:**

  * For [katfevre](https://archiveofourown.org/users/katfevre/gifts).



Sherlock peers into his bedroom mirror with a half-cocked frown. He can’t quite get to a full scowl—Rosie is far too adorable to really make him mad—but he’s certainly not happy either. His eyes trace the anatomically _incorrect_ bones, glued haphazardly to a black body suit. With a sigh, he heaves himself away from the mirror and glances at Molly, who somehow makes the bony costume look cute.

“This is silly,” he grumbles. “I look ridiculous.”

“Well it has a mask. No one will know it’s you anyway.” Molly doesn’t scowl. Molly hardly ever does. Instead, a placid smile graces her mouth and her eyes sparkle with laughter she’s wise to contain.

Sherlock sighs again and reaches for the aforementioned mask, examining the plastic skull face. “Why did she have to pick _this_?” he whines. “Skeleton rock band? That doesn’t even make any sense.”

Stretching out on the bed, Molly points towards the front room where John and Rosie are waiting. “Because he introduced her to Led Zeppelin.”

“Yes, that was a mistake,” he agrees, turning slightly to examine how his backside looks. There aren’t many bones in the human bottom and the plastic pelvis and the bottom of the spine poke at his buttocks uncomfortably. He grimaces at the sight.

“I think you have a lovely rump, Sherlock,” Molly giggles.

He raises an eyebrow at her. “Do you think I ought to _bone_ you later?”

She claps excitedly. “Yes, the puns are coming out of you! Let’s get on with it then, shall we?”

“The boning or…?”

She laughs and sighs mockingly. “No, dear. The party!”

Despite his grumbling, Sherlock allows Molly to lead him into the living room where she eagerly presents them to John and Rosie.

“What do you think, Watson?” Sherlock asks, peering down at the little girl. In a zombie-style rocker costume, she is rather adorable. An array of fake instruments made of pretend bones are lined up awaiting the “band” and Rosie retrieves what must be a violin for Sherlock. She hands it to him eagerly and he almost smiles. “You know I can’t play anything for you on this,” he tells her.

“Yes, I told her that,” John finally chimes. “We thought about gluing the pieces of bone onto your real violin—“ Sherlock’s eyes shoot terrified to his Stradivarius “—but we decided you wouldn’t be too thrilled about that.”

“Ta,” Sherlock responds sardonically.

“Just as well,” Molly adds, taking the bone guitar Rosie hands her. “I don’t think he’d stop playing if he could. Might mean we’d let him go home early.”

Sherlock rolls his eyes as Molly and John exchange a teasing glance and he resigns himself to watching the tiny rocker get her band ready. The final instrumentalist is John, who gets suited with a set of femur drum sticks, tools much too large to _actually_ play of course. “Why do you get the easy ones?” Sherlock demands.

“Because I have to carry the lead singer,” John replies, scooping Rosie into his arms and grabbing his mask off the couch. He gestures to the front door with a vague smile. “Shall we?”

Molly takes one last glance around the room to make sure they haven’t forgotten anything and then nods, grinning. “We shall.”

Sherlock pauses for a moment, seemingly wondering whether a daring escape back into his bedroom is very likely. With a sigh and another grumbled complaint, he reluctantly makes his way down the stairs after the rest of the band.

The cabby seems to find the whole affair much funnier than does Sherlock, and the detective glares out the window most of the ride. “I love seeing the whole family get involved,” he explains. “She’ll remember this for a long time.”

“I certainly hope not,” Sherlock mumbles.

When they arrive at the school, it’s clear that not every child’s family was as willing to dress up. While most of the children are in costume, only a few parents are and most of them aren’t coordinated. The school, however, has gone all out. With jack o’ lanterns and lights decorating every pillar and staircase, and more lights spread throughout the grounds, Monkfrith Primary School has certainly worked to impress.

“I thought you said there was a group costume contest,” John asks Rosie as they climb out of the cab and make their way towards the school building.

“It is,” she chirps. “But I have…but my family is _bigger._ ” Sherlock pulls his eyes from their examination of the school grounds and glances down at Rosie. Her ear-to-ear smile apparently makes forming proper sentences difficult, but the excited glow in her eyes makes it worth it.

“That’s right,” John responds cheerfully, reaching out a hand for her to take. “Because you have Daddy, and Uncle Sherlock, and Aunt Molly here, right?”

“Right.”

“So let’s go have some fun.” John leads the way, holding Rosie’s hand and discussing the decorations with her. Their conversation brings a hint of a smile to Sherlock’s face and he can’t help admiring the way John has taken to his role as a father. He glances to Molly, whose expression might rival Rosie’s for happiest, and plants a soft kiss on her cheek.

“Yes,” Sherlock concedes. “Let’s.” Taking her hand and following after John and Rosie, they can’t help enjoying the cold night air. The body suits are surprisingly warm and there’s a faint glow from the lights reflecting off their bones that Sherlock suspects looks rather interesting to a five-year-old.

“You know,” Molly whispers, leaning her head against Sherlock’s shoulder. “You’re good to that girl. She loves you very much.”

“I love her very much,” Sherlock responds stiffly, resorting to the usual defensive professionalism he uses when someone questions his relationship with the girl. “She’s a light.”

Molly smiles. “I know,” she murmurs. “That’s part of why I love _you_ very much.”

Warmth spreads through Sherlock’s chest and he smirks, glancing at the pathologist out the corner of his eye. Wrapping one arm around her and hugging her close to his side, he rests his cheek against her hair and kisses the top of her head. “That’s why I love you, too,” he murmurs. “I’ll try not to be too grumpy about this.”

“You know, you might actually enjoy it.”

He cocks an eyebrow and holds his bone violin aloft. “Yes,” he responds sarcastically. “What’s not to enjoy?”

 

The inside of the school is as fantastically alight as the outside and Sherlock wonders for a moment whether it’s really a safe place for children to wander around. Between the outrageous levels of noise pouring from the carnival booths, the flashing white lights piercing the otherwise orange glow of the room, and the variety of costumed adults, it’ll be a miracle if nobody goes missing. He glances protectively at their resident zombie rocker and moves instinctually closer. John notices the movement and looks back at him over his shoulder, the same sort of masked panic in his eyes. He flexes his hand around Rosie’s as if to remind all of them that he doesn’t planning on letting go.

“You have to put on your masks,” Rosie announces, pointing at the bit of plastic skull in Molly’s free hand. Hers is the only instrument piece that doesn’t require her to carry it as it features a strap around her neck, and Sherlock eyes it enviously. With Molly’s hand in his right, he’s stuck clutching the mask, violin, and bow in his left. Although he doesn’t particularly fancy wearing the mask, he supposes it’s better than holding it all night, and obliges the girl.

Molly’s mask is also special and with cuts in the top of the material, her hair pours down her back. With a skeleton face and an amusing mess of mousy brown waves, she’s the only one of the three that looks almost reasonably like a skeleton. Sherlock’s curls are crushed against his own skull and the mask bulges awkwardly atop his head. John’s mask stays on better but his stocky build makes him look more like something out of Lord of the Rings than the proper human father he is.

“Better?” Sherlock asks.

“Better.” Rosie’s smile is somehow wider now and she looks around eagerly. “What games should we play?”

John looks back at Sherlock and Molly with what is probably an apologetic grin, forewarning them that he’s about to give in to the polite demands of a kindergartner. “How about all the games?” he asks, eliciting an excited squeal from the girl.

“Only if Unca-Sock plays!”

Sherlock raises an eyebrow, although the expression is lost beneath the mask, and crouches to be eye-level with her. “Now you listen here, Watson,” he tells her firmly. “If you think I’m going to play all these games with you, then you are sorely mistaken.” Rosie nods, knowingly as Sherlock points a warning finger at her. “I will not simply play every carnival game because it suits your whim. I will _beat you_ at every game.”

His smile bursts and he can’t help it. Rosie throws her arms around his neck and hugs him tightly, a giggle escaping her lips. Sherlock hugs her back and looks up at Molly whose mask is wider where her cheeks are, a sure sign that she’s smiling, too. When Rosie lets go, he returns to his feet and pats John on the shoulder, reassuring the old doctor that he wouldn’t let them down tonight.

“Yes,” Molly muses as they follow John and Rosie to the first game that catches Rosie’s eye. “I think it’ll be rather necessary for us to bone later.”

“Now, now,” he chastises playfully. “No time to think of that right now. I have a candy pumpkin to win.”

Molly follows his eyes to the prize booth, where a pumpkin shaped bowl is filled to the brim with all sorts of candy. “You can’t possibly eat all that!”

“Of course not,” he scoffs, eyeing Molly with a disdainful expression. He raises an eyebrow, wondering if she actually thought he intended to. “But there’s a couple of lovely ladies here who just might.”


End file.
